


Guilty Pleasure

by ainm



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:23:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ainm/pseuds/ainm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has a guilty pleasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilty Pleasure

## Guilty Pleasure

#### by ainm

Author's website: <http://www.geocities.com/ainm66/TS>  
Not mine, making no money, intending no copyright infringement.  
Thanks as always to the fine folk at Sentinel Thursday!  
Written for the "guilty pleasures" challenge. For once, *not* a first time, just UST-y.  
This story is a sequel to: 

* * *

Although I'd seen the Volvo outside, I didn't hear any of the usual Sandburg indicators as I approached the loft. 

_Maybe he's meditating_ , I thought as I put my keys in the basket. No coat to hang up on a day like today -- unseasonably warm, uncharacteristically sunny. 

As if called by my musing, a warm breeze reached me, and I realized the door to the balcony was open slightly. But I didn't see Blair out there... at least, not at first glance. 

Walking toward the door, I realized why there'd been no telltale trace of my partner -- he was lying on his back on a gaudy beach towel on the balcony floor. I stopped in my tracks. 

It was remarkably rare for me to see my roommate less than fully clothed. I always thought it was odd, the personal modesty he showed, when I would have expected things like communes and dorm living to have inured him to any nudity concerns. 

Sometimes I wondered if I was doing worse than I thought about hiding my reaction to him, and that's why he kept himself covered all the time. Not a comfortable thought. 

He was anything but covered now, though. All he had on was a pair of swim trunks that had obviously seen better days -- while hardly as form-fitting as a Speedo, they were nonetheless tight enough to, ah, accentuate his assets. 

His hair was spread all over the small travel pillow that he'd brought outside to cushion the not particularly comfortable floor. The sun glinted off the strands as if trying to show off how many different shades and tones were captured by that hair. 

His skin was covered with a fine sheen of sweat, just enough to give his skin a shine that drew my attention away from the glow of his hair to contemplate the feel of that skin... 

Not that there wasn't hair involved -- dark curls of it on his chest that just called to me to slide my fingers through, to find out whether it was coarse or soft, to find the twin islands in that sea of hair, to find how quickly I could make his nipples go hard under my fingers... 

His musculature is not as well-defined as mine, but that matters not at all. He's not soft and he more than holds his own when he needs to -- sturdy and solid, inside and out, that's what he is. 

And it wasn't just the physical that was worth examining and cataloging -- he looked so calm and peaceful and just plain _happy_ that it filled me with warmth that sunbathing had nothing on. 

As I stood there, I realized that regardless of how good he looked and how happy it made me to see him like that, exposed and serene, my feelings about what I was doing were rather mixed... 

Part of me felt like a dirty old man, standing there just consuming him with my eyes, wishing I could somehow find a way to touch that beauty with something more than just my gaze. 

Part of me felt rather appalled that I'd become a besotted old sap, embarrassed that I could be contemplating his 'untouchable beauty' like Sandburg was a fairy tale princess rather than a sometimes-annoying, algae-eating, male grad student. 

The two feelings suddenly clashed violently in my mind, and while there was no clear-cut winner, I realized that I'd exceeded my Blair-watching allotment for the day -- or possibly the year. As much as I might like to stand there and watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest in the relaxed breathing of sleep, it was best if I put a stop to it -- especially if I wanted to have a hope of diminishing my erection before he caught me. 

I meant to move away, head to the kitchen for a beer, or upstairs to change my clothes, or to the bathroom for a shower -- a cold one. Instead I found myself standing in the open doorway to the balcony, looking almost directly down at my partner. 

A rush of affection spread through me when I noticed that from this angle, I could see that not only was his mouth slightly open in a loose, sleepy smile, but he was drooling from the corner of it. 

Suddenly it was less about sneaking a peek and more about sharing in his obvious enjoyment -- I love him, no matter how I treat him sometimes, and I really do derive my happiness from his, no matter how sappy that sounds. 

I exhaled slowly and felt a lot of the tension drain from me -- _all_ of me. 

"Guilty pleasure." 

" _What_?!" The question burst from me before I could stop it -- holy shit, did he know what I was doing? His eyes weren't even open, how could he tell? 

"There are a bunch of reasons why this is a bad idea -- " 

_Oh god_ \-- 

"-- skin cancer, tests to grade, dirty laundry reaching epic proportions, just to name a few -- but I love it anyway, laying out and baking in the sun on these rare Cascade days." 

I hadn't noticed I'd clenched my jaw until it loosened with the realization that he was talking about himself and not me. 

"I always tell myself that I should seize the opportunity when it comes," he continued, finally opening his eyes and looking up at me. "But it's hard sometimes to put the guilt aside at doing something that's just for yourself, you know?" 

"I know what you mean, Chief," I assured him. "You've certainly seized a great opportunity today, though." 

"What about you?" 

"Not much for sunbathing." 

"No, I mean do you have any guilty pleasures you like to indulge in?" 

I struggled to keep the guilt off of my face. "Oh, I don't know..." I hedged. 

"What about WonderBurger?" 

I gave a genuine laugh. "Nah -- I feel no guilt over WonderBurger at all." 

"Figures. Come on, you've caught me in mine, fair's fair. What do you like to do that you know you probably shouldn't?" 

_Oh god, Sandburg..._

"Well, I guess I have that sort of feeling sometimes that I'm wasting time that I could be spending in something more important when I go surfing..." 

He sat up, crossing his legs and settling his hands into his lap. He looked at me then, his gaze moving quickly from his eye level -- which was altogether too close to my groin for comfort -- and up my body to my face, where it lingered. I suddenly felt as exposed as he was -- what was he seeing when he peered at me so intently? I devoutly hoped that it wasn't more than I wanted to share. I wasn't as hard as I had been a few minutes ago, but it still might be noticeable... 

"Jim, it's important to take time for yourself, to recharge those batteries, you know? You deserve it, honestly." 

"I know that's true, all work and no play leads to burned-out cops, but, well, like you said, it's hard to put away the guilt sometimes." 

I couldn't read the look in his eyes, but it was intense nonetheless. 

"Jim. It's not just about being a cop, or even a Sentinel. You deserve good things, to make you happy, not just to make you a better cop. Forget what I said, and screw guilty -- you shouldn't feel guilty. Go for what you want, man, and don't feel guilty about it." 

The way he was looking at me made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. _Oh, Blair... what would you say if you knew that you are my 'guilty pleasure'?_

"Thanks, Chief," I told him, trying to lessen the tension that had suddenly made the air thick between us. 

He stood up slowly, and put his hand on my arm. "I mean it, Jim. Seize your opportunities." 

I felt like he was trying to tell me something, but... there was a lump in my throat and I was paralyzed by the thought that he really was trying to tell me what I wanted to hear, that he really did know my secret, guilty pleasure. But that couldn't be. He was just being... Blair. Always looking out for others. 

I forced a smile onto my face, and patted the hand that rested on my arm. "Thanks, Chief," I said. 

Something flashed across his face then, but I couldn't tell what. Not... disappointment? Wishful thinking, Ellison, I told myself. 

"I'm gonna go grab a shower -- I stink." 

You smell delicious, I thought. "Peee-yew," I said, holding my nose as he squeezed past me and went inside. I followed him but stood just inside the door, uncertain what to do. 

"Yeah, yeah," he said with a laugh -- he knew I was joking. Before he went into the bathroom he stopped and turned back toward me. 

"You'll remember what I said?" The intent look was back. 

"Yeah, Chief." 

He nodded and went in for his shower. 

_I'll remember all right... I just wish I knew what he was talking about..._

* * *

End 

Guilty Pleasure by ainm: ainm@livejournal.com  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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